


Daybreak ;

by eternalsunshinee



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: (as usual), Angst, Closeted Character, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sad Gay Culture (tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshinee/pseuds/eternalsunshinee
Summary: In which Howon finds something he's lost years ago, on a rainy winter night.





	Daybreak ;

**04:36 AM:** _ Howon thinks he’s ought to go home -- _

 

There’s a guy looking at him kind of funny, narrowed eyes turned into thin slits, tight patterned clothes and heavy sweat glistening on the man’s skin. His thick eyebrows draw closer in confusion, and Howon can hear the inaudible question of  _ ‘Do I know you?’  _ plastered on the stranger’s tight face. Howon’s head feels too heavy, and through the muffled club music from outside and the low booming in his head he recognizes that  _ no,  _ he has  _ no idea  _ who this stranger is. He feels all wobbly, like he’s learning to walk all over again. He's taking baby steps, recalling how breathing works almost seems hard.

 

He takes a deep breath, collecting the fallen remnants of himself from the floor in order to bring his hands under the faucet, bringing water to his overheated face.

 

It's like a harsh wake up call -- suddenly he's back, standing in a beat up bathroom at Itaewon’s biggest underground gay club, looking at his own tired expression through the graffitied mirror. He looks downright  _ awful _ , and he swallows down the heavy taste of alcohol and sweat clogging up his throat. His hair is all messed up, sticking up in unholy directions, stiffened up by gallons of sweat and whatever gel Woohyun put in Howon’s hair before coming here.

 

_ Woohyun …  _ He was the reason Howon was  _ here _ . Howon silently curses his name, if it weren't for  _ Woohyun _ and his dumb  _ Woohyun ideas _ Howon wouldn't be here, wouldn’t have his head pounding from the deafening music, wouldn’t want to tear his skin off and crawl into a dark little hole in the corner of his mind.  _ ‘Just try it once,’  _ Woohyun’s voice rang in his head,  _ ‘you can’t stay closeted forever, it’s not healthy, for like, your skin or something’  _

 

Howon wonders if punching his own head - to get rid of his  _ voice _ \- would look weird.

 

Thing is, Howon wouldn’t consider himself ‘closeted’, not  _ really  _ at least. He barely considers himself  **gay** , or bisexual, whatever. He fell for a boy once, somewhere shoved between his childhood memories. Foggy and dirty, like the rest of his past. And it was  _ love _ , the most Howon had ever felt, more than he had for any of his newer exes, more than he had for anyone. But he still liked  _ women _ , he  _ really really _ did. He was attracted to them, loved their skin, their lips, their warm body against Howon’s own. Even if he’ll never forget the taste of the boy from his foggy memories -- _ cherries and nicotine, sweet and hot. Polar opposites. -- _ that didn’t mean he was gay.

 

He hears a rattle from one of the stalls behind him, a choked gasp soon following it, he feels like his fingers can't stop shaking. It’s foreign, the thought of it -- the thought of it being two guys --  rustles something deep in Howon, fear or nervousness or anxiety. All he knows;  _ he definitely doesn’t belong here. _

 

**05:35 AM** :  _ Just like us -- _

 

He leaves the bathroom the second his stomach settles down, his blood rushing and gushing all over his body. He feels like a volcano begging to erupt without lava to spill, only the microwaved pizza he ate with Woohyun before coming here.   Now that he's inside again, the pungent scent of alcohol hits him full force. Slamming into his face and making it's uninvited way up his nostrils and into his bloodstream. Howon vaguely wonders if once he leaves - if he'll ever leave - he'll smell this disgustingly decadent like the other bodies in the club. 

 

He feels a body knocking into him, muttering a sound of discontent. Howon’s about to yell something like  _ ‘Excuse me, can’t you see I’m having a sexuality crisis over here?’  _ When he’s met by a face of loud makeup and even louder tears. She --  _ he? -- _ is dressed in a dress of neverending sequins, eyebrows drawn in harsh pink and red glitter, scattered all over her face like little stars. She has black tears staining her cheeks. Howon’s struck, just for a second, and his words fail for just another two, before his lips open without his permission and say;

 

_ “You’re beautiful.” _

 

The women looks at him, shock settling over her features, exaggerated with makeup. And Howon is startled, too. He doesn’t know why he even  _ said  _ it. She’s pretty, but not really Howon’s type. Besides, he’s pretty sure she’s one of those drag queens Woohyun’s told him about - not that there’s a problem with  _ that _ , it’s just that whatever Howon is seeing right now is a mask, an act. He doesn’t know what the real person underneath looks like,  _ is  _ like.

 

She regards him, like he deserves to be regarded. As if every bit of his being doesn't want to run out of that door with the shiny neon signs and never look back. She just looks at him, like he's Lee Howon and he's allowed to be whoever he is, right here. Just for now.

 

“You’ve never been here before, have you?” She asks, her voice is kind of deep, but it has a sweet little lilt to it. Her fingers ( _ impossibly long fingernails bedazzled with all the most precious of stones and--)  _ coming to wipe at the mascara tracks on her face. Howon shakes his head as no, and she laughs.

 

“This place is a shithole,” she says, eyes twinkling with unshed tears. “The community will eat you alive.” 

 

Howon's breathing comes in shortly, it occurs to him that this woman - this person - has suffered enough pain to warn any newcomer to stay away. “What do you mean?” He asks.

 

“It's crawling with wolves.” She rolls her eyes, Howon notices they’re streaked with blue, like colored contacts would be. “You won't find love in these walls, dear. Love is not here. You will find passion, perhaps even acceptance.” She looks at him again, just  _ looks _ at him, Howon can barely breathe. “Love’s grown tired of hiding like prey.”

 

“Who says I’m here for love?” The world’s kind of hazy, and he’s looking at her as if through his friend’s Myungsoo’s camera lens. As if the whole background has grown blurry, and she’s the only thing in focus.

 

“You reek of heartbreak.” She sighs, giving him one last look. _ “Just like we all do.” _

 

**5:50 AM:** _ you looking for a dance partner? _

 

After that, Howon stops hiding.

 

He doesn’t stop thinking of her, looking for her through the sweaty bodies and the glitter floating in the air. He doesn’t find her on his first alcohol shot, he doesn’t find her on the second, he third, the fourth. By the fifth it’s almost like he dreamed her up -- And he stops looking.

 

It's daybreak. And the dawn bleeds into the neon strobe lights in the club through the blinds. Everyone’s still dancing, like it’s the last night of their lives, like tomorrow isn’t dripping onto the wooden floors. Howon’s found his voice again. Feeling the beat passing through his skin down to his bloodstream. Howon never wants it to end, never wants to forget forgetting himself between hot bodies and the raging beat of his heart.

 

Boys come and go, talking to him under the hazardous music pounding against the walls of the club. A boy with pink hair who smells like liquor and blueberries presses against Howon’s skin, and he can’t seem to  _ care _ . He can’t hear his father’s words when he found out about his first boyfriend  _ (he smelled like cookies and cream Dad, his lips tasted of nicotine and strawberries, his thighs --)  _ He can’t hear those same words pressing against the circumference of his neck -- _ No son of mine will be ---  _ Another boy presses against him, and his brain’s a little hazy, and he might have grabbed his waist, drinking in the feeling of coarse leather and silk like skin.

 

An American song comes on, Howon smiles -  _ he knows this song. He's kissed his first boy to this song.  _ The floor clears a little, and Howon's tendons move to the heavy beats. It's a low-fi sort of tune, the pitched tone of a man bleeds through the speakers, Howon follows his words. 

 

He feels eyes on him. In the dawn colors mixed with sweat and ecstasy. In the daybreak, he'd dance freely, like he hasn't done in years. And he hadn't been free for years, not  _ this _ free. His moves come naturally to him, as though he'd never stopped dancing, as though he hadn't walked out from that studio years ago. He's alone for awhile, just moving across the empty floor, the empty eyes cheer him on. Some people even film him, and he's too in the motions to even get upset about it.

 

And then time stops.

 

So it goes, Cinderella enters and time slows to a rattling halt, doesn’t it? And he’s just like Cinderella, hidden in the shadows, with blue neon striking a harsh line on his face. And his blue dress is swapped with sky high pants a crop top, and glass heels are no match for his eyes - the only part Howon can even  _ see. _ Round and brown, coy with a twinkle warning Howon not to get too close. He won't ask for his name. Not then, not later. And it doesn't really matter at that moment. He comes into the empty stage and smells like sickly sweet perfume.   _ And his eyes _ ….. They're like pools. They captivate him almost, chasing him with a smile across the floor.

 

There's a sudden change in the air between them as he starts dancing, taking over any of the spotlight between their bodies. His style .. hell, his  _ body, _ his  _ everything  _ appears to be the polar opposite to Howon's own. He moves like a wave, all curves and confident drops. Feminine twists and teasing touches to Howon's skin. His arm brushing against Howon's chest as he makes his theatrical way across the floor.

 

Howon stands there, a useless starstruck scarecrow. He remembers to move at some point, chasing the boy's form. He finds himself gaining confidence as they begin dancing together, his hands finding their way onto the boy's skin.  _ he's wearing a crop top, sky high pants, there's a band of skin right above his waistline. Howon's fingers chase after it hungirly.  _ His hands reach his waist easily, and the boy hums into the air in front of them, they're practically grinding.

 

It's  _ heat _ , it's  _ heat _ and pulsing  _ passion _ and the rotten smell of angst still fresh on Howon's skin. He suddenly thanks Woohyun in his head (even if he'd never admit it), as the boy turns towards him and Howon finds himself swimming. They're still chasing each other, and the boys hands reach Howon's shoulders. And they're a wave and hurricane flowing together on the empty dance floor, dancing along to their own breathing and their pounding heartbeats. Making music at daybreak.

 

The song changes eventually, the crowd cheers for them, before entering back into the floor. Howon's eyes never leave the boy's. not for one rotten second.

  
  


**6:16 AM** :  _ who we are --- _

 

They’re strangers. Two people in a club bathed in light in Itaewon, their skin alight with energy buzzing through their veins. Howon’s hand braced on the stranger’s lower back, feeling his booming heartbeat against his fingertips --  _ or perhaps it’s his own, restless at the feeling of skin and sweat and --  _ They’re not kissing, but their skin is molded so tight they might as well be.

 

“I’ve never seen you around,” the boy breathes against him, Howon’s still swimming in his chocolate coated eyes. “You’re not from this area, are you?”

 

Howon thinks to ask for his name, but bites his tongue. “--From Busan.” He supplies instead.

 

The boy hums, turning in Howon’s grip so that Howon is faced with the back of his neck. They’re still swaying to the beats of popular tunes from the speakers. “I was born in Busan.” 

 

Howon hums. “Is that so?”

 

“Yeah. Moved to Seoul when I was seventeen.” 

 

Howon breathes him in, praying to imprint the feeling of his warmth on his skin. He’s struck by the feeling of timelessness. How they’re unstuck in time, in their little piece of frozen landscape. Where Howon’s work doesn’t matter, and his dad’s patronizing words disappear. Where the boy’s words and lips and skin are all the fills the spaces of Howon’s mind.

 

_ Love … can you fall in love with someone you don’t know? _

 

“Who are you?” He asks, his tongue bitten raw.

 

The boy laughs, grabbing Howon’s arm that rested on his waistline, making Howon twirl him to the beat of the song. They moved with each other again, leaving Howon stuck with bittersweet longing on his tongue as the music wrapped around them. Then they were back, chest to chest, sweating and breathing heavy. The boy is smiling, Howon can’t help but smile too.

 

“I’m just someone,” He answers finally after some swaying. “Someone you don’t have to remember, someone who wants to dance with you. Just for one night.”

 

Howon feels like he can breathe, for the first time in a very  _ ,very  _ long time.

 

**6:30 AM:** _ just one last kiss -- _

 

The music slows to a stop.

 

They don’t stop swaying, because they’re now drunk and giggling mindlessly. Their fingers entwined, breathing in a tempting sync as the bartenders starts swiping away at the confetti filled floor. Howon asks him what he does for fun, drowning in heavy waters. The boy says: “I dream, dream of being far away, where we could sway forever. Where the sun bleeds orange over the globe, for just the lovers trespassing under it.”  Howon looks him in the eyes, smiling helplessly.

 

“You're a dream, aren't you?”  He says, feeling a million miles away but also right  _ there. _ “An absolutely terrifying dream.”

 

The boy smiles; again and again Howon thinks he's met someone he'd never meet again. He wants to ask for his name, but he doesn't. 

 

They'd kiss next, that's what they should do. That's what they're meant to do. And Howon hasn't kissed a boy since he was 16 and had pimples all over. And the boy tasted of nicotine and bad choices and they kissed for hours and hours until the sun was gone in the horizon and the sky filled with freckles. -- _ Just like on this boy's face just like -- _  Howon never called him the next day. Never. He'd forgotten his name, his face, the taste of nicotine on his lips.

 

And when they kissed, on the dance floor, where the sun was shining heat on their skin, and the boy tasted of nicotine and rotten decisions and his skin was no longer freckled and Howon had no pimples on his skin -- Howon knew he didn't need to ask for his name. He didn't.

 

“Sungjo -” He tries when they break apart, and the familiar heat in the boy's eyes melts him a little inside. “Don't.” the boy tells him, drinking him in like the hot chocolate Howon used to make them on cold winter days. And he kisses him just like he did on that last rainy day, before he disappeared --  _ moved to Seoul .. _

 

And Howon doesn't say anything.

 

**07:25 AM** :  _ from dumbass:  _

**_you up?_ **

 

Woohyun blinks groggily at the bright light emitting from his bedside table. No rational person deserves to wake up  _ this _ early. In Woohyun time, this was practically the middle of the night. 

He stares at the table for so long that it becomes a sort of, blurry blob of browns and whites, before deciding to reach out to his blinking phone.

 

His vision clears out when he spots Hoya's contact name, hidden between all of his unread messages from boys he really  _ didn't  _ want to talk to. 

 

**07:29 AM**

**To Dumbass:**

yeah, whats up?

 

**From Dumbass:**

thanks.

 

Woohyun grins, feeling victory well up in his throat.

 

**07:30 AM**

**To Dumbass:**

u got laid ????

 

**From Dumbass:**

no

something better

 

**To Dumbass:**

better than getting LAID??

 

It's silent for a few moments, and Woohyun feels his patience wearing thin as the pressure slowly builds.

 

**07:40 AM**

**From Dumbass:**

man i think i just found something real

actually. actually real.

 

Woohyun groans, feeling the sickly sweetness from his friend oozing from the device onto Woohyun's sheets. 

 

**07:45 AM**

**To Dumbass:**

i sent u to get laid not to find the love of ur life

smh

good luck with THAT ig 

 

**From Dumbass:**

Thanks

really man

 

He shuts off the phone, looking at the black screen for a few moments, seeing his reflection almost smiling. 

 

Then he went back to sleep.

 

**08:00 AM:** _ meet me -- _

 

Howon stares at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands for the longest time. 

 

He found it when he was changing, discarding his jeans to a far corner of his room and forgetting about them. But when he took his wallet out, he saw a piece of what seemed to be a napkin sticking out from the corners.

 

He's been staring at it, reading the words again and again. Repeating them in his throbbing head in all of their different forms and shapes. His head is aching, from the booze and the heat and the words going in circles and circles. His eyes are threatening to shut.

 

He texted Woohyun, going to close his blinds in the same time so he'll be able to get a few precious seconds of sleep. Now he stands there, watching the trees blow to the summer winds and the birds flying outside. 

 

He looked down to the paper, reading it for the last time for that day -- to make his dreams follow the print, wherever it goes. And in the paper, the words dyed in dark blue ink, smeared a bit at the edges and all ripped up at the edges, stood one simple message:

 

_ meet me at daybreak. _

 

_ -lsj _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> im gay thanks


End file.
